


I Love You, You Boron

by wonderwheelzier



Category: IT - Stephen King, Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Drabble, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25414999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderwheelzier/pseuds/wonderwheelzier
Summary: mike and richie are competing for captain of the quiz bowl team, and richie lets mike win, which leads to ~confessions~
Relationships: Richie Tozier/Mike Wheeler
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	I Love You, You Boron

**Author's Note:**

> may or may not have had to google the "simple question" in this fic lmao i haven't taken chem in 5 years oops

“I cannot believe you did that!” Mike exploded as the heavy metal door of the high school clicked shut behind them. Mike spun on his heel and backed Richie up against the wall, Richie’s four inch height advantage over him be damned. “I don’t need a fucking pity win!”

It was coming up on the end of junior year. Quiz bowl season was over, and Mike and Richie had been competing to see who would be captain of the team their senior year. After Mike flubbed a question, all Richie had to do to become captain was to get one right. Mike knew the cards were shuffled, that it was totally up to chance, but the card Richie got had just been “Name a noble gas.” That’s it! Just name one! And Richie had fucking said oxygen. Mike  _ knew  _ Richie knew that wasn’t a fucking noble gas. So the question went to Mike, who, hesitantly, answered helium and thus won the title of president. 

“It wasn’t a pity win!” Richie’s hands came up by his head as Mike seethed.

“I know you know that oxygen is not a fucking noble gas, you asshole.”

“Why are you mad? You’re president now! I should be buying you ice cream. And strippers.”

Mike deflated a bit; Richie was obnoxious, sure, but it was hard to be mad when he gave Mike that goofy grin with his fucking hot pink braces. “Why would you let me win?”

Richie sighed and dropped his hands. “Because you want this way more than I do, and you’ll be way better at it than I would be. Also, that question was fucking bullshit compared to the one you got, it wouldn’t have even been fair for me to answer it right.” 

“Why would you even join the match for president if you never wanted it?”

Richie gave him a small smile that made his stomach do somersaults. “Because you’re cute when you get all competitive and show how smart you are. And also Mr. Clarke made me.” Mike rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in an attempt to calm the erratic way his heart was beating at Richie calling him cute. “Seriously,” Richie’s voice softened as he curled in on himself, “you deserve this position. You’re the smartest person I know, and you’re organized and responsible, and you know how to get people to listen to you. You’re the best fit for this position, everyone knows it.” Then, the grin coming back to his face, he added, “And I’m thrilled to be your VP, your right hand man, your dark Vanna White, bringing chaos and levity when it’s needed  _ and _ when it’s definitely not.”

As someone who always struggled with saying  _ iloveyou _ s, Mike knew that there were endless ways to go about saying it. And that’s why his heart leapt into his throat in that moment, Richie’s confession leaving him breathless. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “You really mean that?”

Richie stepped forward, into Mike’s space, making him gasp. “I really do,” RIchie said, his voice impossibly soft, and far more sincere than Mike had ever heard it.

He could smell Richie’s cologne, could see the subtle colors in the plastic frames of his glasses. He could see all of his freckles in vivid detail, including the ones that dotted his lips. His full, bitten, dark pink lips. As tended to happen in situations that had his blood pounding in his ears, Mike’s words failed him. So he took a leap of faith and leaned forward, bringing his lips to Richie’s the way he’d been wanting to ever since they met two years earlier. At first Richie stood there, clearly not knowing what to do with his lips, but then his hands were on Mike’s waist, and he was kissing him back. It only lasted a moment before they both pulled back, both gleefully bewildered. Richie’s deep blue eyes were like saucers as they surveyed Mike’s face. “Well fuckin’ shucks,” he grinned. 

“I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to say after a first kiss,” Mike teased, but he was giggling and already leaning in to kiss Richie again.

Richie hummed into his lips before musing, “Can I say it after the second kiss?”

“No,” Mike grinned, delighting in the way Richie’s hands felt on his waist. “Maybe after the hundredth.”

“Oh, wheelbarrow, how naive of you to think I won’t count them!” To prove his point, Richie pecked Mike’s lips with a, “Three,” then another and continued, “four.” Mike giggled and was half-heartedly shoving him away before he got to six, but Richie kept on kissing him: the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his hair, wherever he could reach as Mike squirmed in his arms. 

“What was that you were saying about ice cream?” Mike asked once Richie began to let up.

Richie hummed again and nuzzled his face into Mike’s cheek, kissing him again. “Any flavor you’d like, Mr. President, on me.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I’m president because of you, the least I can—”

But Richie cut him off. “Ap, ap, ap! On me! I’m romancing you!” Mike blushed and ducked his head as Richie took his hand and led him to his truck. He opened the passenger door with a grin and a, “See? Romancing.” Mike shook his head and climbed into the cabin, secretly delighted with the way Richie helped him in and closed his door. 

Richie’s truck was old, with the kind of seats that had bowling alley carpeting for upholstery, and there were candy wrappers and Burger King cups everywhere. It was quintessentially Richie in a way that Mike found strangely endearing. And as Richie smiled at him and put his arm around Mike’s seat to back out of the spot, Mike thought that he could get used to the mess and the stale smell of weed if it meant he got to keep sitting in Richie’s passenger seat.


End file.
